Maizey rests in her cozy bed before going home as the newest member of the Shamus family in early July. / Kristen Shamus/Detroit Free Press

Detroit Free Press Staff Writer

Julia Shamus, 9, puts her arm around her new yellow Labrador retriever puppy, Maizey, on their first day together in early July. / Kristen Shamus/Detroit Free Press

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Our first bundle of joy came home on a clear and frigid January afternoon in 2005. We named her Julia and marveled at her soft pink skin.

Three years later, another wee girl wrapped in blankets came home on another cold winter day. We named her Sarah, and were delighted by her dimpled cheeks.

And in 2011, just as royals William and Kate said their highly publicized “I dos” before a massive crowd, our son was born. We named him Sam, and loved how his blond hair took on a strawberry cast in the sunlight.

Another three years have passed, and one night in late May, I looked over at my husband and said, “I want another baby.”

He nearly fell out of his chair. I clarified as he regained his composure. I didn’t want the diaper-wearing, scream-all-night kind of baby. I wanted a furry baby, the kind that might yip and bark from time to time, but rarely talks back.

“It’s been three years,” I told him. “It’s time.”

He groaned. We’ve always talked about getting a dog some day, when the kids are more self-sufficient and life isn’t so crazy. He just didn’t expect that some day would come this year or next.

I thought it’d be nice to have a dog that would grow up with our children, that would be a best friend for them, a playmate, a cuddler. We both had dogs when we were children, and some of our best memories included time with them.

Plus, I argued, Sam had yet to be potty trained. What could be more ideal than to house train the dog and potty train our son at the same time? It’d certainly save us money to have the carpets cleaned all at once, after the whole messy ordeal was done, I said.

He began to come around, and noted that having a dog would help to teach the children responsibility, and to treat animals with kindness. Yes, I said, yes.

The kids, who have badgered us for years about getting a pet, were overjoyed. Sarah had lamented last fall that she was the only child in her kindergarten class without a pet of some sort — whether it be a fish or a hamster, a gerbil, a kitty, a pot-bellied pig or a dog.

Sam, an adventurer and animal lover, constantly begged for a turtle, lizard or a snake. “Just a little one,” he’d say. This, I thought, would appease him for a while, even if our pet has fur rather than scales or a shell.

On a surprisingly chilly day in early July, we made the drive north of Lansing to bring home our fourth baby, a 7-week-old yellow Labrador retriever. We named her Maizey, and as I watched her romp in a field with her sisters, all I could think about was the “Poky Little Puppy.”

She was the one who seemed to lag behind, curious, and inquisitive while her sisters were “roly-poly, pell-mell, tumble-bumble, ‘till they came to the green grass and stopped short,” as the famed book says.

As her sisters crawled beneath a parked car and a set of wooden steps, the puppy that was to come home with us followed the kids to the yard. She was mellow, and sweet, and seemed truly interested in us.

She almost seemed to choose us.

Julia held her in her arms and buried her nose deep in Maizey’s fur. Sarah sat beside her, stroking one of her paws, and Sam tried to race with her, both of them falling in the grass before long.

And so hazy Maizey, crazy Maizey, lazy Maizey, Maizey Blue is ours. We are hers. And we couldn’t be happier — though my husband is a little wary about what kind of baby I’ll ask for three years from now.